


The Glimpses Were Enough

by mikomikonomiko



Category: League of Legends, Legends of Runeterra
Genre: Gen, OC, Original Character - Freeform, Story for an OC, really? more likely than you think, this is my first ever attempt at fic, tw bullying, tw death, tw discrimination, tw graphic depictions of frostbite, tw vague depiction of mental illness, tw violence, you can provide tips to help me improve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikomikonomiko/pseuds/mikomikonomiko
Summary: The end of a life. The death of a dream. The birth of a new god. Let those who can see, see with eyes open.(An OC fic? For a first attempt at writing? The Audacity.)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. What Came After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One half-dead young man trudged his way up the holy head of Targon.

_Numb._

The word jostled his tired brain as he continued the ascent. It had been several minutes (perhaps an hour has passed already) since he ran away. Away from the faces in the rock wall, the avalanche, the Firebrand, the ambush, the chain of prisoners.

Away from home.

_Home_ , he thought. If he could still reckon time right in his wretched state, he may have realized that the sun was already laying in her evening bower far below the west of the horizon. The Rakkor will have set the hearths alight in their stone homes, filling the indoor air with cheery warmth and the sweet smell of pines. All the men, women, and children will have finished supper and settled themselves for sleep after saying their prayers to the Golden Sister. They will be sleeping well on beds of warm wool while the Ra'Horak stood on watch, shielded from the freezing night air under the heat of cloaks covered with Erbok oil.

_Warmth_. He grasped tightly on those images of warmth and comfort like a child caught in a blizzard finally finding a welcoming campfire. This small glimpse of safety in a time now beyond reach lifted his spirit. But the thought reminded him of how cold he was, and he pushed it away.

At least, he could tell from the stinging and aching on his face that he was cold. His hands and feet were numb.

He looked down. Even as he lifted one foot and drove it into the slippery snow and put his left arm in front of his face, he could feel neither the bone-biting chill of the wind nor the ground.

His hands, his feet, were black, swollen, numb.

And dead.

"Why?" he asked in a hoarse voice. No doubt the freezing atmosphere has dried out his throat. But he thought that his screaming and wailing from minutes (an hour? Hours?) before have torn his vocal cords to shred.

"Why?" he asked again, the sound nary a whisper. "Why is this happening to me?"

The howling wind gave him no answer.

His foot caught the raised stone of a pathway, which he didn't notice he was approaching. He yelped and raised both his hands in front of him as his body keeled forward.

To no avail. His swollen eyes made gauging his fall difficult. He flopped painfully on his stomach, the wind rushing out of his lungs in a pained gasp. The wind slacked, and its seemingly unending howl lulled. At last, it gave way to quiet: the lonely, heavy, soul-crushing silence of Targon's peak.

En did not raise his head. His strength ebbed away into the cold, hard surface of the stone path. He stayed there, lying prone as his last thoughts sank into the silence around him. Memories of his youth, of herding the tamus by the pools in summer months, of enduring the jeers of the young children (and eventually, the soldiers-in-training), of running and hiding from the rocks and blows they threw...

... _Of meeting the worshippers of Twilight, and talking to a young spy in hiding_...

All these memories floated into view in his failing eyesight. They seemed to point at him, examining his sorry state cruelly, and laughed at his frostbitten limbs and broken body.

Enough. He had enough. A shadow pressed into his eyes, weighing his forehead down unto the stone. He was exhausted, cold, and alone. There was no one there to help him, no one to answer him.

_Or is there?_ He woke with a start. In a distant corner of his dim, dark mind, a sudden spark of flame burst into life. This small glimpse of light filled his body with a wave of fire, giving him enough strength to prop himself by his arms and lift his trunk upward into the still air.

Up ahead, he saw that the pathway kept rising into a flight of stairs. From what he could tell in the distance, it ended on what seemed to be the peak of Targon itself, surrounded by spires of black rock and tipped by a dais surrounded by three pillars of curved, carven crystal.

En dragged one knee forward and balance himself on it as he drew upright. The answer to his question may be right there. At the very summit of the holy mountain. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe the answer was in him all along.

"It's their fault," the small spark of light said. He did not have the energy to gasp in shock, but his sudden curiosity would have stilled it anyway. "They have brought this on you. They have brought this on many others. And they won't stop any time soon."

Yes, he thought. Perhaps they were the reason this all happened to him. Solari. Lunari. People.

Here on Runeterra, mankind seemed to loom large even in the face of world-ending calamities and eldritch abominations. But from the eyes of Targon, the eyes of heaven, the eyes of the Celestials beyond, they were puny. They were small, and their view of the cosmos equally so. All they had and ever will have are small glimpses of a tale that stretched far beyond their petty dreams and desires. Not even bards, soothsayers, prophets, or sorcerers could fully grasp it, turning instead to half-truths and trickery to beguile others, sate their fears, and affirm their vices.

Perhaps he will tell them what that tale actually is. Who else would? Here on the mountaintop, there was no one else who could see where was or where will go. The power to tell that tale, to rid them of their ignorance, and to make them cower in fear and trembling under the revelation, lied in another long climb away.

He shifted his right foot slowly until it lifted and landed forward. Then, he did the same with the other. Then he moved his right foot forward again, one, then the other. On and on in a cycle.

He will show them. Their smallness will mean that they will only see glimpses of the truth.

_But those glimpses will be enough._

He shot one last look back, bringing his thoughts with him. Down at the foot of Mount Targon, these puny people were now sleeping, dreaming of what will happen tomorrow and the days to come. He wondered what they will see soon and whether they will wish they had never woken up to see a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned to write just one chapter. Never thought the intro would be this long. Except updates in the following weeks (? I promise nothing sorry. I needed time off of work and hyperfixations).
> 
> Tamus and erboks are creatures on Mount Targon.


	2. What Came Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sorry start, an ominous end.

"Careful, boy! You'll burn your eyes."

En fought the urge to turn back. It was a hot summer's day in the mountainside village near one of the Ra'Horak's many barracks encircling the path to the summit. The elevation made the air much cooler than in the lowlands of Targon. The village itself rose three miles above the sea, sitting comfortably in the bosom of a wide plateau. The mountain's stone girth fenced in the western side of the village while the other sloped downward for a few leagues before dropping into a sheer cliff. 

En was herding the tamus on a green field of short, hardy grass close to the edge. It was noon, and neither the brisk breeze nor his loose tunic of red wool tasseled with dyed golden thread did anything to stop the beading of sweat.

"Ho, bright eyes! Gone deaf, too? You didn't seem so last time."

He gritted his teeth. The soldiers were clearly itching to find another excuse to chase him down and kick his ribs again. Two nights ago, he found himself listening in on a conversation between the three of them while he walked home from an errand by his master. 

They sat on a bench together, clearly not focused on the night watch as they huddled under torchlight. One of them spoke out loud with a gruff, slurred voice. They were drunk, making them a lot less guarded with their words. 

Of course, En's tall, lanky frame did not make him any good with hiding. As he tried his best to hide behind a rack of spears, one poorly aimed swing sent them clattering on the ground. The din shattered the quiet evening air. One of them stood startled out of his droning reverie and pointed right at his head. 

The sound of scuffling and cursing alerted En that they were in no mood to brush him off as a slightly nosy bystander. 

He ran and they gave chase. But their strength and endurance (evident from the quick yet even pounding of feet against rock) made the pursuit much shorter than he had hoped. They pinned him down and kicked him in the stomach to their drunken minds' content. 

The morning after that, his master Kanek merely tutted and berated him for his foolishness as he bound En's bruised ribs with white bandages. "You managed to sneak back in without a sound. Try that the next time your fancy drags you close to another beatdown," he said.

En simply nodded while biting back his cries of pain. He knew better than to expect this proud, practical wool spinner to pity his plight and demand recompense from soldiers who laid hands on a bondservant. And besides, there was nothing about En that made the villagers fond of him. 

He remembered the night when he first arrived into his master's small abode. It was a windy evening, and the torches flickered timidly as small flecks of snow dance in the air. The moon loomed large on the horizon, staining the clouds around her green with her pale light. En recalled the feeling of sitting on the crook of a strong, muscled arm, swaying and bobbing as the man who carried him walked with long, careful strides. The village was as quiet as a graveyard as all the Rakkor huddled into their chambers to stave off the bite of the cold. But En was not spooked by the silence as he usually was. Indeed, he was rather comforted by a steady symphony of sounds: the crunch of boots on snow, the swoop of air as he bobbed gently in the unknown man's grasps, and the warm huffing of said man as he struggled against the keen wind.

The man? His head was covered by a brown hood, and all he could make out from his shadowed face were bands of gold across his cheeks. En thought they glimmered dully under his glowering eyes.

He wilted into where he sat. This man did not seem to in a good mood at the moment. En resolved not to look at him directly again, fearing an angry spank or an unceremonious dropping unto the clearly freezing soil. He focused instead on the steady rhythm of noises to keep himself quiet.

Eventually, En heard these sounds slow to a standstill. Curious, he turned to look where they were at the moment. From his fuzzy recollection (confirmed by what he would come to see every day), he saw a wooden door that glowed softly with an orange light from behind. _Warmth!_ he remembered thinking.

It did not take long for him to see that it was, indeed, warm inside. As the man knocked, someone shuffled inside, drew close to the door, and asked for his business in a gruff voice. There were a few terse exchanges that En could not quite understand at his age. And then, there was more shuffling, and the sound of a lock loosened cut through the quick silence that followed.

A wave of heat washed over En, making him shiver in delight as it coursed from his head to his toes. Wherever he was, he was surely safe!

The unknown set him down on a bench by a table, murmured something to the host of the house that made his eyes widen and his brows pinch, and then waited for a response. En felt a jab of fear in his stomach. _Is something wrong?_ His young mind whirled with anxious thoughts as he waited along with the hooded man for an answer.

He felt himself relax as the man finally let out a long sigh and sank into his seat. "Won't you at least take a seat and remove your hood?"

From behind, En heard the hooded man mutter a simple "no," and then went on speaking with the man by the table. En fancied that he was speaking urgently about something important. Big people always huffed when they talked about big things.

Whatever he may have said, the seated man eventually twirled a hand at the hooded one as if he was shooing him away. _Is it over?_ En thought. He was caught by surprise when he felt himself pulled suddenly into an embrace. The hooded man held the child tight to his chest. For a moment, everything went dark and muffled to En as he sank into the man's hug, hearing only the soft thudding of a heart.

And then, the hooded man let him go and stood up. Footsteps. A hushed farewell that earned only a grunt in response. The sound of a door opening and the sudden gust of cold air. The door slamming shut. Then silence, punctuated only by the crackling of the hearth.

En never saw the hooded man again.

The warmth of the fire did nothing to melt the sudden sheet of coldness that settled all over him. But he was quickly shaken from this sensation when he heard a chair groan by the table. The man in the seat stood up as well and walked away from the table into a small kitchen that sat just near the hearth. He heard the cluttering of platters, bowls, and cups as the man fiddled with something on a stone shelf. At last, he returned to the table with one small carven cup and a jug held in his hands.

En scooted a few inches away from the man as he place the jug and cup on the table and bent his knees to sit on the bench. The child gulped.

"Still cold?" he heard the man say. As he nodded, the man took the jug and tilted it over the cup, pouring a white liquid that let out a small wisp of steam. He then took it and handed it to En. The child, marveling at this show of kindness from such a rough-looking person, accepted the cup with shaking hands. He pressed his palms into its sides to let the warmth seep through.

But he did not drink. Instead, he looked at the man, drink untouched, waiting for something else to happen.

The man locked eyes with him. "Scared, are you?" he asked. And suddenly, he guffawed, slapping his belly as he flung his head back. The sound of his laughter bounced off the walls of the small house, overwhelming En's ears and putting him on edge. The house itself seemed to have shrunk.

The man eventually ended his hearty laugh and dashed his palm against his brow, wiping off sweat. "The name's Kanek, boy. And I'll look after you now."

_Look after?_ En thought. He turned to look at the closed door once again. The wind must have died down at last, because he could now only hear the sound of Kanek's voice over the fire surrounding him.

The man followed his gaze, shook his head, and sighed. "Look, I'll just cut the chatting for now."

"You are a bastard. The son of a Ra'Horak and a heretic priestess. Your mother, if she still lives, is probably hiding in another village further down the mountain. I doubt her fellow devotees will be eager to have her join in on their mysteries after having you.

Your father, of course, would want nothing to do with you if he still wants to keep his neck intact. Now, I'm not as fussy as they are to hold to old tribal feuds instead of opportunities. I can see you growing up to be of help to me around here, boy. So if you value your life, I suggest you start getting used to not thinking about family. There's nobody in this village who will open their doors for you if they catch wind of your nasty backstory. Do you understand?"

He remembered nodding in response, though he wondered if he had also wailed and bawled at the naked cruelty of his master's words. Perhaps he knew not to hope for pity right then and there.

From that moment on, he and Kanek got along pretty well. The man was indeed practical and only talked to En about watching the tamus, cleaning wool, setting the spinning wheel, and finding interested buyers. Otherwise, he would leave En on his way, entrusting him to his talks and berating him for not doing them well. And the boy would also look at him timidly, wondering what exactly goes through the now graying man's head as he spoke in his dry and rough tone.

Kanek never beat him with his fists, throw something at him, or threaten to throw him over the cliff. Yet somehow, En was still afraid of him. His cold eyes and the cunning smile that always hovered over his lips made the boy think that there was no real affection for him in his soul. He was a useful hand, another implement in his box of tools for his business. No matter what Kanek said, En never doubted that he would gladly sell the boy if it meant getting a few more coins.

The man raised him and gave him shelter. He never threatened him with harm. That did not mean he actually cared.

En shook his head, puffed his chest, and let out a long exhale, yelping as the bruises on his ribs stretched against the bandages. Kanek would not be happy seeing him standing around while the tamus were still out of their pens. Standing up, he put his left hand to his brow to see if one of them teetered close to the cliff edge. When he let it down, he saw the big beads of sweat that pooled on the side of his brown, putting silver flecks on his bronze skin.

"On it, then," he whispered to himself. He picked up his crook and was about to walk further into the field when he spotted someone waving at him just out of the right corner of his eyesight.

Talking to the servant girl was one of the things that broke the monotony of En's daily routine as a shepherd, aside from driving out predators and getting harassed by the soldiers. He met her many months before. Apparently, she served as a servant-girl for a house just a little further down the village. Much to his continued puzzlement, she never told him her name.

He had chalked it up to his status. Maybe she worked for a well-off family that had close ties with the Solari elders, and there was no point in her bothering with other common folks, especially servants. 

Which is why he remained mystified about their weekly chats by the field.

"Anything interesting lately?" she asked. "The mistress of the house had been asking for any changes big or small. She said it's been months since anything exciting happened in the village by the barracks. Probably nervous that big things are brewing and the Ra'Horak have kept her out of the loop."

He pondered what that could mean. He himself had little idea about any important things happening in the village. Kanek was the only one who would talk to him regularly, and any news he might share was scattered in between complaints about En's shoddy work as a tamu herder.

He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Oh," she replied, face downcast. At the change of expression of his only other talking companion, he immediately gathered his thoughts. There was, of course, a little something he got from the little peek that earned him the bruises on his ribs. _Maybe this should be interesting._

"Actually, they say Rahvun, the Daylight's Spear, will come up from the valley to join the soldiers for training. There have been a lot of Lunari raids recently, and the Ra'Horak think that the Aspect of Twilight showing up again has something to do with that."

At this, the servant-girl simply put up her hand to her chin and hummed. Something on it caught En's eye. "Something about the soldiers coming together, huh? Maybe she would want to hear about that," she mused.

Then, she shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well, can't really hope for more than that. I guess I'll get going then." She sounded like En's little crumb of news did not interest her, but the sudden glint in her eyes told him otherwise. _Why would she want to hear about that?_

Before she could bid him farewell and go back on her way, a group of villagers passed them in the opposite direction. The sound of their gossip bounced of a long brick wall that separated the military compound ( _and the prison cells_ , he added in a whisper to himself) from the dirt and stone path. They seemed to making their way to the trade shops further ahead of Kanek's house and the little field where the tamus grazed. Both she and En stilled to listen.

"...another one, recently. Just down the mountain pass from here."

"Another attack? What are the Ra'Horak doing?"

"All they could probably do, dear. The Daylight's Spear has summoned all the remaining troops to gather in the barracks. The attacks happened further below Targon and have been climbing upwards. Probably hoping to catch them on the next raid."

"Curse those heretics. Why haven't they gotten around burning them alive in their hiding holes yet?"

"The moon is on their side. The dark shelters them. Even though the Heresiarch Diana was seen fleeing Targon for some faraway country, her minions have become bolder in her absence."

"Why is that? Could it be..."

"That little witch Zoe, perhaps? They found her skipping around in the pools weeks ago. Cousin Sa'Hiri never slept a wink since. Raving her head off about another big disaster coming."

"She might as well be right. When the Twilight arrives, some wicked mischief follows. Perhaps the Ra'Horak should try capturing her first. No doubt those moon-worshippers have been getting orders from her this time."

"Blast it! She makes a game of our suffering!"

"Haven't you heard? She used to be a Lunari disciple. No wonder..."

As the group went on with their worried prattle, the servant-girl faced En again and chuckled.

"Hear that? Things never change at all. They just keep going at it. One side gets bludgeoned by day, the other gets massacred by night. Blood and ruin everywhere! Don't you think they should be tired by now? What if we all just decided to fight as one? I'm sure there are bigger things out there that'll do us in if they catch us at each other's throats," she said.

"Well, I don't know," he said in turn. "It would be nice if it all just ended, and we could all live in peace. But I doubt either would love to give way first."

She laughed. "I guess you're right!"

Once again, the thing on her hand drew En's gaze. She caught his line of sight and raised it up further into his view. "Do you like it? It's certainly quite pretty. But moonlight makes it look even better. Ever heard of sparkleflies?"

He examined it. It was a silver tattoo of a creature with its segmented wings spread out. The shape suggested that it was an insect, and En wondered if that's what a sparklefly actually looks like. 

It was "quite pretty." In fact, En was so absorbed that he felt like he stared at it for hours. But his trance was cut short by a creeping thought in the back of his mind.

_Silver_. The Rakkor dedicated themselves to the worship of the sun. And the Solari, especially, believed that it alone deserved adoration and that all other lights were false. To that end, they clothed, decorated, and armored themselves with the colors of bright fire and radiant dawn.

_Red and gold_. Lady Leona, Chosen of the Sun, proudly wore those colors, as did all the sun-worshippers. And silver...

_Silver was the color of heretics_.

En's face blanched. The servant-girl may have noticed because she immediately tucked her hand behind her. There was a tense pause. Suddenly, after what seemed like an eternity of dread, she cleared her throat.

"Now, this isn't what it looks like. I'm no moon-worshipper, and neither are the people of the house. In fact, I'd probably be dead under their blades if they found out which side I'm on. Our side... well, our side takes a different view to things, alright?" she said in a quivering voice.

En simply stared at her. Her brows knitted and her lips bunched up. "You know what?" she yelled. "Forget it! It'll probably go over your head if I explained it anyway. See you when I see you."

She set her shoulders and stomped her way down the mountain pass. Following her trail, he spotted a tall, white-walled house with many windows that sat a league away from the entrance of the village. "Probably where she works," he said quietly. 

As she went on her way, he found the soldiers were still standing by the roadside. He hadn't noticed them while he was talking with her. Two of them had their arms crossed, while one was muttering something he couldn't make out.

_Probably not a good sign._ En pushed out the dark shadows that began swirling in his head and set himself back to tending the tamus. 

It was the second hour of noon at that time. En continued his faithful watch in the field after a meager lunch of cured meat and milk. Eventually, the Golden Sister was getting ready for her bower. The sky blazed in gold, and then blushed red, and then mellowed into a deep blue and purple as the day drew to an end.

After a quiet supper with Kanek, En immediately washed up and set himself on his bed. The silver sparklefly danced in front of him as he tried and failed to sink into sleep. He thought about the servant-girl and her words. A pit suddenly grew in his gut. Thinking about things with implications far beyond him only made falling asleep much harder.

He decided to comfort himself by wondering what she will be saying the next time she stops by.

What happened later that night answered his musings.

That was the last time they would ever meet.

A glimpse of the sparklefly flying away bade his closing eyelids a good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how well I did the descriptions for the location. I can't estimate distance to save a life.
> 
> As of Jan 27, I made some changes with Entry into Kanek's Home scene to flesh it out.


	3. The Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As dawn peeked over the horizon, other things from the deep of night rushed in. Twilight danced.

It happened when the windows were shuttered and the hearth-fires were dimmed.

En was lying on the bed with his face buried into the cotton, deep in that sweet haze of awareness and unconsciousness. He first felt his legs, then his stomach, then his arms, shoulders, and head meld into the hard surface, cushioned only by the thin yet comfortable layer of his single bed sheet. Meanwhile, his mind seemed to ooze through the barriers of his skull, first clumping, then spreading out in a languid mist as slow as the springs that petered out into pools and lakes in the shadowed feet of Targon.

He was not quite deep in slumber. For reasons he could not explain, he was unusually aware of his own body. _A lucid dream?_ he whispered to himself.

He had heard of these things happening to people, wherein they could have some control of what occurs in their dreamscape. Some flew into strangely colored skies, while others sailed over seemingly unending seas. To him, it sounded like getting one was like striking jewels in a supposedly stripped mine shaft. And so, he decided to make the most out of it. Idle pleasures were hard to come by when you were just a hired hand with nothing to your name.

As he tried to extend his senses to feel out his surroundings in this eerie yet comforting non-space, he found that he was completely untethered to anything. Not the bed, the ground, the walls, or the sure hard rock of the mountain.

He opened his eyes and shuddered. In his field of vision, a vast vault of blackness stretched around him and beyond him, far into the furthest point that he could make out of his straining eyes. At first, he shook with fear at facing what seemed to be a yawning void about to swallow him into oblivion. But as the sudden pang subsided, small motes of light appeared to rise out of the inky dark.

As these little lights glimmered softly, meekly into view, they painted the black vault with soft tinges of deep purple. Then, as if encouraged by their quiet entrance, more lights sputtered, then sparked, then bloomed into brightness, scattering more hues into the now shimmering canvas of blues, reds, greens, and golds.

_Stars!_

His heart swelled at the sight. What began as an unkind emptiness seemed to unfurl outwards in front, below, and above him with bundles and bands of glittering sparks of light. He felt himself stretching his arms outward, lifting them up toward this marvelously unraveling tapestry of cosmic beauty. He fancied that he could touch them, or even pluck them from their high seats, perhaps even take some of them down to his lowly bedroom in Kanek’s house. He could hide them perhaps, under his stiff pillow, if ever the old man would try to discover the source of wondrous light that would suddenly bleed through the cracks of the door or the poorly thatched ceiling.

While his mind wheeled with wonder at this exciting prospect, a strange rumbling sound rose out of the silence. It started with a soft rumble, almost silent to En’s ear, in the furthest corner behind him, where he did not bother to look. But slowly and surely, it grew to a growling din that made his hair stand on end.

A sudden feeling of sickness brewed in his stomach. As he turned to see where the noise came from, it went on growing in volume. Now, the sound was loud enough that it pressed into his ears and rattled his bones.

Time slowed. En’s body seemed to struggle against a weight that made his motions crawl by like spilled honey.

Before he could land his gaze on the source of the sound, the light of the stars foundered and then faded, plunging En back into the mute darkness where he first found himself.

He cried out in shock. Strangely, the sound of his shout did not sink into the background but repeated, bounding into his ears in a slowly building wave of echoes. They first sounded like his own scream, until one began with a higher pitch, then another came in a lower one as the former cut itself short in an ever encroaching gurgle of new voices.

The sound of a multitude of people shouting and wailing pierced En down to his marrow. Worse, the awful noise behind him burst into a roar.

He had yet to cover his eyes when there was a sudden flash of searing light.

He woke, but the screaming continued. This time, there was the undeniable sound of metals clashing upon metal.

En leapt to his feet and strode to the small window in his meager sleeping quarter. With his legs trembling and his heart in his throat, he dared to peek his head out of the single stone window.

Trying to see where the screams were coming from, he looked to his right. The still dark blue sky of first light was tainted with a shroud of yellow and orange that emanated from the roofs of the buildings. Black smoke spewed and streamed in swaying bands out into the horizon, filling the air with a choking reek.

En’s grip on the windowsill tightened as he heard the unmistakable sound of metal against metal. A clink here, a crash there, and then a cry of pain. The same cacophany of noise repeated in one moment after another while the crackling of fire droned on.

“Out of the way,” yelled a hoarse voice. Quickly, En drew his head back into the safety of his room as a small crowd whipped past him, almost nipping strands of his hair. A man and a woman were stomping their way up to the mountain pass to the left of Kanek’s house. The man was dragging a heavy wagon laden with a clattering mash of baskets, jugs, and judging from the jostled yelps and sniffling, children. Their faces were glistening with tears, and their disheveled mother could do nothing but coo and crow at them loudly to calm them.

And they were not alone. Soon, more and more people joined them into fleeing up into the mountain, away from the bloodshed. Their heaving and weeping filled the air outside, almost drowning the sounds of battle, until a shrill cry would cut the constant stream of sound as some explosion or shout rose louder above the rest.

The village was clearly under attack.

En slid down to the floor, away from the window. He then brought his knees to his chest and covered his ears with his hands. “What should we do?” he said out loud. Nobody answered from the din that rocked the village just beyond the wall. He wondered if his master Kanek had awoken from the commotion.

The sounds of shuffling things and groaning furniture told En he was.

Before he could stand, run out, and ask his master if they should join the fleeing mass, a sudden weight in the air pressed upon him. Kanek, and even the people running outside, curled into themselves in shock, sensing the crushing pressure as well.

In the blink of an eye, En’s sight was assaulted by a brilliant flash of golden light as bright as noontide. The clash beyond the wall was muffled for a moment.

As the light dimmed, a deafening boom followed. The villagers wailed as the sound of the explosion rumbled through the ground, threatening to break the steep cliff face where the village stood.

In Kanek’s house, dust from the thatched roof showered like hail unto the meager dining hall that led straight to the front door. Even the walls threatened to break from all the quaking. Both the old man and the boy braced themselves against the wooden table, holding fast as they knelt to the floor. Behind Kanek, En heard the shelves groan from the strain. Pots and other wares clattered, and some tipped over and broke, spilling their contents.

En squeezed his eyes shut. _How much longer?_ he thought as his mind strained under this nigh world-ending clash that broke over their once sleepy mountainside village.

The earth continued to quake violently under their feet. And then, silence.

The world stilled, almost like it was waiting with bated breath. Even as his heart hammered against his thin chest, En could not hear anything under the tense grip of stillness that wrapped them.

He concentrated on his ears, hoping to catch the slightest sound outside the walls of the house. Then, he heard a strong, deep voice leap out of the silence.

“Face the sun!” it bellowed. Solari soldiers replied in a rapturous chorus.

The villagers, slowly straightening themselves as they turned their gazes over the wall and into the barracks, picked up the unceasing refrain of jubilation. “Daylight’s Spear! He is with us, with the sun! Saved, saved, we are saved!”

“About time,” Kanek muttered under his breath. En finally opened his eyes and loosened his hands, which were digging into his scalp. He struggled to balance himself, still woozy from the panic moments before. Sunlight was starting to peer through the cracks in the walls and the gaps in the wood of the door.

_They were saved?_

The thought lifted the spirits of all the villagers. But it sounded hollow to En. The battle seemed to have been brought to a decisive end, and the Rakkor may now feel relaxed as the sure hand of Solari strength proved itself once more. And yet, he could not shake the feeling of unease that grew in his stomach, spreading through and grasping every sore nerve and vein in his body.

He felt like was a frail fillet of iron wire locked in a furnace, and soon the hammer blows will come.

Something moved again out of the corner of his eye. En, startled out of his cold stupor, turned to see what it was.

“It” was small and silvery, with translucent wings that seemed to fade into the air as they fluttered.

_A sparklefly!_

He thought that another glimpse of the strange creature would cheer him up. But as he followed its path, his face fell.

A young girl with large, round, and oddly colored eyes was floating behind the door to his quarters. A shock of flowing orange hair that blended into blue and purple crowned her faced and framed her small, childish body.

The girl locked eyes with him, pulled down an eyelid, and stuck out her tongue.

The world dimmed.

He could not hear Kanek curse as he fell face-first unto the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor corrections made!


	4. The Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the face of doom, dreams of freedom are a small comfort.

"... poppycock, I say. I'm holding no _traitors_ nor _informants_ in here!"

Kanek's loud, grumpy voice shook En out of his fainting spell. He groaned into the cold floor as his arms scrambled to steady himself as he tried to get up.

The sudden stab of pain made him flop back down on his stomach. A horrible idea, judging from the now continuous throbbing from his chest. He drew his left hand to his side tentatively to poke at it. His lips pursed to hold back a cry. The bandages were still there, and so were the bruises.

"Stand aside. One of the captives has told us, and some of our soldiers testified to it as truth," a stronger, grumpier voice fired back.

"Please, sir, you can't mean my farmhand! He can't hurt a fly. And besides, getting someone to do menial work for free is hard these days," he pleaded. 

_Of course, he would say that._

En was surprised. Since when did his inner voice get so snippy and crude? He imagined that if he said that out loud, he would know what it's like to get whipped or have your nose broken by the old man.

A thrill of fear ran down his spine. That did not sound like him, at all. His inner voice used to be something really small, something comforting and familiar. But now, it seemed to have gathered itself, gaining an odd sort of self-assurance and knowingness. Like a once nebulous, formless spark that suddenly found itself a space for kindling. Now, it glowed steadily in his dark, simple mind. Tiny and harmless, yet strangely confident in the fact that it could grow with just the right amount of fuel. 

_Must have hit my head on the floor too hard_. There! Much better.

En decided that he would push himself up even as his ribs shrieked in protest. As he once again steadied himself, he shot a look at his bedroom door. He was sure he saw "it" there before he swooned.

"It." He refused to name "it," fearing that doing so would make "it" pop out, point a finger at him, and cackle. He heard of the stories, and he certainly heard the chattering women yesterday. Wherever "it" went, chaos was sure to follow. That was all he cared to remember at this moment, and oh! How terrible it is to ever even think about it.

"Then we will provide some compensation for you. Just enough to help you hire a new farmhand."

What? Kanek's plea felt like it was said days ago, and the response only came recently. But no, En's addled mind was still reeling from the image of the Aspect of Twilight appearing (invading) in the world he thought he knew. 

He caught the table as he almost fell forward. The old man and a soldier turned as they heard the table screech slightly from being moved.

"You there! Run or fight back, and you'll get something that'll make you regret it," the soldier said, pointing squarely at his face. En's eyes widened as the scene suddenly came together in his mind.

Someone accused him of being a traitor or an informant, and now the soldier was here in Kanek's house to take him in for questioning. What with the recent attack on the village and the barracks, it was obvious that the Ra'Horak would set themselves to smoking out possible quislings. After all, the Lunari came just as the Daylight's Spear arrived to rally the Solari forces.

But what is this about being a traitor? He scrambled his memories for an explanation as the soldier pulled his limp arms forward and wrapped a coarsely woven rope around his wrists. As its rough surface scraped at his skin, a thought came to mind that widened his eyes and flooded his body with horror.

_Was it the servant-girl? But surely he didn't know who she really was or what she and her masters were up to. All he did was share what little news he heard. He was not privy to anything. This is a mistake!_

A cold sweat broke out on his nape. "S-sir, I didn't know," he said in a trembling voice.

"Save that for the barracks," the soldier replied.

"But really, I didn't!" he cried. "There was this girl who worked for a family living further down the village, just outside the gates. She would stop by and ask me about any news. That's all! I didn't know about her and her masters having anything to do with—"

"So it's true, then! What she said?" 

En looked into the soldier's face. A grin wrinkled the man's brown skin. His heart sank.

"You just saved us a couple of minutes of investigation, boy. Now come quietly or I'll shut you up!"

_What she said?_

En's head swam under the weight of what he realized. The girl he had talked to, one of the few who talked to him openly and unprompted, ratted him out in an attempt to save her skin.

A bitter taste rose in his tongue. "Where is she now? Did you bring her in already?" he asked.

"Let's just say she didn't have much to share after that. Now move!"

En pressed his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He whirled his head back at the thatched house, which slowly retreated from his view. Tears ran freely down his face. Already, some of the village folk were gathering along the path, forming a wall of questioning, whispering, and vindictive faces.

_Please help._ "Master Kanek, I—"

The desperate cry for aid died in his throat. The old man drew himself out of one of the windows by the door. A disapproving look was on his face, and his right hand made a cutting motion along his neck.

He remembered what that gesture meant. Kanek would use it whenever a person who was interested in buying some of the spinner's produce would ask the boy a question. That gesture said, "Quiet. This is business talk right here. Say nothing and do what I tell you."

The old man then sank back into the shadows of his house. Likewise, En turned away, fixing his gaze on the back of the soldier's helmed head. The mixture of anger, fear, and terror that filled his stomach was replaced with a yawning void. 

He heard someone out of earshot whisper. "Pitiful. It's always the ones you don't expect."

_Oh, don't you, now?_

En had nothing to say back to that.

As he kept his gaze forward, he spotted another plume of smoke rising far ahead on the horizon. He peered around the soldier's burly frame to see where it was coming from. 

The sight of the large, white, many-windowed house greeted him. Except this time, the walls were stained with soot. A red fire leaped out of the windows in the upper story. Meanwhile, what looked like a platoon of Ra'Horak footmen darted in and out of the door below, like ants scurrying to carry food as the rain started to fall. They were throwing objects haphazardly into a pile just outside. The stuff gleamed dully under the harsh glow of the burning house and the sunlight that was already filling the plateau with brightness.

En went back to staring at the soldier's head. He worried about the strange sense of satisfaction that simmered in his belly.

Kanek's house was but a dot in his field of vision when they finally came upon a clearing paved with granite, polished by years of wear under wheels and boots. "This way, boy," barked the soldier.

The walk to the entrance of the barracks was quite short. But to someone suffocated by helplessness, the whole noon may as well have passed. Such was the case with En. Even with the dull emptiness that clutched tightly around his torso, his mind was terribly active, flitting from one thought to the next. Was he preparing a defense? An impassioned plea that would move even the staunchest, stone-hearted Ra'Horak into giving him pardon? Maybe even a plan to escape? Even En didn't know.

In moments like these, En often turned to his imagination for comfort. Snatches of stories, idle fancies, anything to get his mind away from the inescapable doom waiting for him. Besides, weighing options, making plans of action, gnawing oneself raw at the prospect of imprisonment (or even death): these thoughts were all too great, too high and noble for a mind that only knew how to guide tamus into the right patches of grass, fling stones at predators, and get beaten by bigger men.

He tried to grasp at a few threads of stories he heard during the rare times Kanek brought him along in trips to the trade shops. Two of them stood out to him: the Tales of the Unbreakable Spear and the Shield of Valoran.

He had never seen these two ever in his life. But Kanek did say that one of his forefathers was among the original squadron where the Aspect of War, once named Atreus, belonged. He threw this tangent up in the air as they passed by an old beggar who took to regaling passersby with stories of these great servants to the Celestials, the powers that be.

He remembered Kanek rolling his eyes at the old man and his tattered rags, waving his arms around while an eager crowd watched and listened. "Don't see why he would bother telling these things. Everyone and their mother knows about the Aspect of War, and the Aspect of Protection still enjoys a great following in other parts of the mountain. Phooey, he's probably been spotted and fawned over by every living thing in Runeterra!"

Personally, En didn't mind. He thought that it was amazing to hear such stories. _What I would give to listen to stuff like this for the rest of my life!_

He heard the soldier shout something at a high, broad gate made with thick pine logs bound together by equally girthy beams of iron. Then, he heard something clink and slide. The two flanks of the gate finally gave way, pulled inside by a group of stern-looking soldiers. The man promptly yanked at the rope that tied En's wrists together. Of course, this was unnecessary. The boy was too thin and lanky to resist the soldier's rough pulling.

Also, his mind was still elsewhere. He kept himself quiet as his mind's eye labored to produce the tales about the Spear and the Shield from the scant threads of story that he heard from the old beggar in the marketplace.

At last, he could form something coherent. He remembered the tale of Atreus, a young man brimming with promise and yet somehow cursed by fate to fail whenever he gave his all. How he, after being disappointed with the Aspect of the Sun's choice to spare invaders, braved the climb to Targon's peak with a trusty friend. How he ultimately lost him to the bitter cold of the mountain, even his own self when the Aspect of War deemed him unworthy of his charge. Then the Darkin came and smote the face of the mountain with death and ruin, piling corpse after corpse and heap after heap of Targon's best flesh and blood. 

He heard how the Aspect failed, dying at the Darkin's blade, running him through the chest and spilling his heart's blood. How his star faded from its high roost in the sky...

Only to flash brightly when the man refused to die. Picking up the dead Aspect's spear, he maimed the Darkin and forced him to flee. Now the new Aspect of War lives on, waving his fist against both the Void and the heavens, a spirit of fire and fury that blazed brightly against the bleak, mute grasp of death.

And then, of course, there was the tale of the Shield of Valoran. Taric he was called, as his followers and those who have seen him fondly say. He was exiled from a far-away kingdom called Demacia, way beyond the reach of the ocean that hugged the long stretch of the mountain range where Targon sat. That place had a long history with Targon itself, being the refuge of those who fled the Rune Wars, enjoying the protection of the twain Aspects of Justice until strife inevitably came. 

It was said that he was sent away for deserting his post in a moment of great need. As part of his punishment, he was tasked to climb the mountain's peak. He would either atone by dying or prove his innocence by returning safe and sound. 

Obviously, the less noble of those who received this task would simply abandon the journey and seek a new life beyond the vigilance of Demacia. But the great Taric was said to have a heart of crystal: clear, shining, free of any foulness or decay. He took to the mountain with the intent of proving his own character, swearing that he will use whatever strength he finds at the end of the journey to protect the weak, the frail, and the needy. 

And so he did. The Celestials deemed him worthy, and the Aspect of Beauty and Protection claimed his body as its host, arraying him with jewels, and granting him the strength to resist fire, shadow, metal, teeth, and blades for the sake of all living things.

En wondered what it's like to have such strength. To be mighty, powerful, untouchable. To be free from the petty claims of men, the threat of oppression, or the surety of sudden death. 

He wondered what it's like to be free.

En's tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. He had never put much thought into what he wanted in life. A good night's sleep and a day without Kanek's constant nagging would have been enough for him if you brought up the idea. 

But now, as he walked slowly but surely into the waiting arms of judgment and imprisonment, the thought has never been much clearer. No, it's as bright as day. 

En wanted to be free!

The back of his eyes began to sting once more. He chewed on his lower lip to keep himself from crying. The tracks that ran down his cheeks from before still chilled his face when the wind blew on them.

"That's over now. It will never happen. This is all that's left," he muttered to himself. A single hot tear dash down from his lashes, and he squeezed his eyelids shut.

"What?" said the soldier, cocking his face toward the boy. "Nothing," En replied.

The gate screeched. He could hear the soldiers manning it huff and groan as they heaved the flanks back outside to bar the way shut. En instantly turned to it, watching intently as the view of the outside slowly, then quickly, narrowed. 

He thought he caught another glimpse of a sparklefly fluttering away from the gate and the barracks. 

_Look, that one's free, too!_

The gate drew shut with a resounding boom. En turned his head back into staring at the soldier's helm. The view of the outside was gone, but one thing remained etched in his vision.

The house was still on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was much longer than planned. Yay?


	5. The Cult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunlight burns away. Doubts, darkness, and many things besides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long one. There's descriptions of dead bodies and burning.

Far away from the snowy mountains of Targon, a woman was walking slowly on a beach. The sky was clear and glittered with starlight, and she smiled as she felt the soft caress of moonbeams glinting off her vambrace. 

A warm breeze blew from further up the shore, bringing hints of diverse aromas no doubt made by the many flowers and plants that thrived in the mystical land of Ionia. Even Diana could tell that each minuscule particle of scent carried hints of secret virtue that the wise folk knew to distill into tonics and potions. The very earth itself seemed to thrum and glow with this ancient power.

She eased her shoulders and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she dared to close her eyes from the focused watchfulness she held for a while. There, between the land and the sea, Diana never felt more peaceful than she was at that moment. 

She could only recall very few moments like that. Most of them happened before the moon claimed her and changed her life forever.

_The moon._

Diana opened her eyes. Looking up, she beheld the Silver Sister on her nightly journey, stately and alone save for the company of bright stars as numerous as the sand on the beach she stood upon. She felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips as she raised her left hand toward it. Forming a cupping shape with it, she fixed it unto her line of sight, fitting it almost snugly against the celestial body's curved surface. 

_Herself beholding herself_. A tiny laugh tickled at her throat.

She wondered if a mortal, Vastayan, or some other intelligent creature would find her there in that pose. Perhaps they would turn where she was gesturing at and join her in her quiet reverie, in awe or shared amusement. Or maybe they would just turn and go back through where they came, running with haste or trudging as they shook their heads and murmured to themselves, "Must be some phantom or spirit. Better not catch their attention."

But none of that mattered. The silver-haired warrior was there, content to simply "be," soaking up a quiet moment in her doubtlessly long and arduous mission to find traces of the Lunari in a foreign land. She allowed herself to settle in the moonlight, soft, subtle, soothing,

_Born of the quiet reflection of bright, burning sunlight._

Diana dropped her hand and grasped at her hood, pulling it down to clear her field of vision and hearing. Then, she snapped her face left and right. The night was quiet as always, and there was nothing but the soft rustling of trees and the rhythmic lapping of the waves. 

That did not ease the tension building on her shoulders. Something in the air around her was steadily building pressure, like a rope slowly but surely pulled taut, ready to break in any second. In a smooth, practiced motion, she set her hand on the hilt of her Moonsilver Blade, ready to swing it out at the slightest sign of attack. 

In the blink of an eye, the inky black sky crackled and sparked with a bright flash. While it stung her eyes, Diana did not flinch or blink. Instead, she turned to the source of the light and took a solemn step forward. 

The bright light gave way to a shower of red, purple, and blue sparks that formed, which then formed a shimmering ring of glowing energy. She peered into it as a purplish void coalesced at its center and spread to fill out the inner frame of the ring. And then, it turned into an angry shade of red.

The smell of burning buildings ( _and flesh_ , she hissed internally) wafted into her nose, making her gag. The image within the ring was roiling with black fumes and ringing with the sound of battle and screaming. 

Out popped a young girl, dressed in green clothes that contrasted her long trail of bright orange hair, which ended in a cascade of equally bright colors.

Diana took a step back and dropped her hands from their earlier position. She watched as the little girl plopped headfirst unto the sand with a muffled thud. The ring of energy behind her wavered and then vanished with a pop. The soft symphony of evening sounds crept its way back into Diana's senses until it was cut by a shrill, chirpy voice going "Ow!"

The warrior sighed. "That better not be what I think it was, Zoe," she said in a low, grave voice. The girl immediately shot upward from the ground in a burst of magic. Then, she slowly drew back down to the sand like a feather as she patted her skirt and combed her hair to get rid of pesky sand.

"Whatever you thought it was, it wasn't that, Miss Moon Moon. Hehehe!" said Zoe sheepishly. A tint of red was playing on her cheeks as she grinned at the woman.

Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "So, what was it?" she asked, her voice a little louder.

Zoe huffed and crossed her arms, turning her face away from the warrior with her chin raised. "Nothing but official business from the Big Ones. Top secret and reaaaally boring. They're not even giving me time to play with my friends anymore!" she replied, her mouth playing with each syllable. 

"I see," said Diana. She did not press the subject further. The warrior knew better than to wring straight answers from the Aspect of Twilight, who enjoyed tricks and riddles even more when they clearly caused others increasingly unconquerable inconveniences.

Zoe turned to the woman with her arms now tucked in her back, the embarrassment on her face now replaced with a beaming curiosity. "So, still on your little quest, are you? You know, they were wondering when you'd go back to the mountain and face your stuffy, stuck-up friend in a swordfight again."

"Not until I found out more about my people," Diana answered. "Who knows how many Lunari are still out there, waiting for a sign to come back to the mountain and secure the places they once called home."

"Oh, right, right. Big people stuff! Good on you. And them, I guess," Zoe said in response. She did not bother hiding the fact that this did not interest her one bit. Diana simply cocked an eyebrow as the girl picked at a strand of her orange hair and twirled it around while whistling a lilting tune.

"If there's nothing else, I suppose I should get going. Until next time," the warrior finally said. She turned away and began walking down the beach again to continue her scouting.

"Ah, so you don't wanna hear something interesting, huh?"

Diana stopped. "You bring tidings?" she said in a low voice.

The girl leaned forward in her direction, balancing on the balls of her feet. "Just a little something I could share about my official business, you know?" she said in a stage whisper.

"Let's hear it," Diana replied gruffly. 

"Hmm." Zoe brought her hands forward this time, twiddling her thumbs as she pieced her spiel together. "Let's just say that Targon is looking like an anthill right now. Big things happening, and even bigger things coming up, as the Big Ones want! They're getting iffy, see. Something about being behind schedule."

The girl stepped closer to Diana. The warrior locked eyes with her and studied the expression on her face. She was furrowing her brows and setting her mouth into a dour frown. Or at least, she was trying to do that. The dancing light in her oddly colored eyes betrayed the twinkling mischief that remained the sole priority of the Aspect of Twilight's enigmatic mind. They seemed like peepholes into a vast maze of closed doors, winding paths, and windows that opened and closed in quick succession. 

The warrior remembered shivering at the sight the first time they met.

Zoe cupped her mouth with her left hand, in a real whisper this time. "I think they're starting to get anxious. You know how a lot of things are going bump in Runeterra, and they want to stay on top of everything. I bet all the poros in the cosmos that they're planning to claim another one."

Ascension. The process of uniting a mortal life with that of an Aspect, creating an avatar of the very concept they represented in their lofty existence in the heavens beyond. To ascend is to be granted power and privilege beyond what mortals could hope to imagine. But at the same time, it laid upon the Ascended a heavy burden. Diana knew that all too well.

She felt sorry for the poor soul who may not like what awaited in their life ahead. She prayed to the Silver Sister that they would at least enjoy the new wonders they get to experience in face of the crushing inevitability of solitude.

"Who will it be this time?" she asked. Her face hardened in anticipation.

Zoe did not answer. The warrior took a step back to examine her expression. There was only a small smile that curled a corner of her lip. And of course, the knowing, wicked light in her eyes.

The courtyard of the barracks was littered with brick, rock, metal, and the broken bodies of the injured and dying. As he was dragged along wordlessly by the soldier, En inspected the place, poring over the debris and the pools of blood that seeped into the rock or splashed on the walls. Here and there laid many of the Ra’Horak’s rank and file soldiers. Once they seemed strong, imperishable, nigh untouchable to the young boy. But then, he had never seen the aftermath of a skirmish up close before. He struggled to curb the odd fascination that grew in the recesses of his mind at the sight of broken bones, hacked limbs, ghastly wounds, and, to both his horror and amazement, the occasional spilled entrails.

He also noticed that most of the faces only had the gold and red tattoos that adorned the bodies of the sun-worshipers. In his line of sight, they were hardly any corpses bearing the typical garb and armor of the Lunari.

_Probably despoiled_ , he heard the strange voice in his head say.

“Over here!” a harsh cry broke the tense silence that blanketed the place.

_Ah_.

The soldier holding the rope tied to his wrists drew close to where the shout came. En almost tripped on some of the shattered flagstones as the man tugged his restraint with a burly arm. He then knelt and grabbed the hair of a man who was lying spread-eagle on the ground. He jerked it upward to inspect the face as if it was just a sack of cured meat.

A small, silver sickle shape gleamed dully on his forehead, which in turn seemed to be painted with a blue dye. “Duskpetal dust,” he remembered Kanek saying to him long ago. The old spinner was describing to him how some particularly crafty merchant tailors used it to give their merchandise a deep shade of midnight blue, a rarity in many Rakkor households. Of course, this fact is kept as a trade secret, one that definitely rewarded you with a hanging if revealed.

The soldier looked closer. Shadowed by the man’s loosely hanging jaw was a deep gash that tore the windpipe open. The angular shape suggested that a sharp point was driven into it.

“The third one we’ve found,” he heard the man who called out mutter aloud. “It’s clear he had done many of our men in before a spear poked a new one into his throat.”

The soldier sucked on his teeth in response. “Mangy dog.”

En looked into the dead face, as well. As the soldier stood and exchanged more words, he could not bring himself to look away. He felt like he was straining to memorize its expression, etching the signs of agony and violence that once wrenched it, twisted it, until it was loosened at last by the cold grasp of death.

In turn, the dead man looked into him. He felt the dull eyes bore into his skull even as the soldier went on his way to bring him… wherever he’s taking him.

It did not take long until the soldier pulled at the rope even harder, making En’s knees buckle and planting him on the ground. He yelped as he tried to brace his stomach to keep himself from falling on his face again. His ribs flared in protest.

“This is the one?”

En shot up his head in surprise. He was surrounded by a line of armored Solari, with breastplates, helms, and pauldrons that gleamed brightly under the sunlight. They towered over his kneeling form, exuding an almost effortless power as they stared at him silently with their shields and spears gripped steadily. The sight made his parched throat feel even more dry.

Huddled in front of them was a line of captives that looked sad and pathetic in contrast to the mighty figures forming a wall behind them.

One of them stirred at the question. In a small, quivering voice, it said, “Y-yes.”

The soldier let the rope tying En’s wrists slip from his fingers. He took a step toward the person who answered and yelled, “Speak up!” The person (En figured that it was a young girl) cowered at the command. He thought he could hear her gulp.

“If he was in a spinner’s house, that’s definitely him. She had been talking to someone like him every time she came up the pass for errands. Or, that was what she told me, anyway,” she continued.

_One of her companions, perhaps._ En felt his brow deepen at the thought. There was a strange sense of security upon him ever since he gave up corralling the new voice that spoke from within.

“Stay calm, Huma. It’ll be alright,” he heard a much older woman say to the girl. “This is just as she told us. She will return as promised and lend us the aid we need. We can only hope--”

“Quiet!” another soldier shouted. He kicked at the woman, causing her to fall forward. “Save your spit for the Daylight’s Spear. He will weigh your words and see if your ravings have merit.”

And just as he named him, a horn bellowed into the horizon. “Face the sun!” a loud voice answered, and soon others joined it in chorus.

Solemnly, he marched into view, accompanied on both his sides by a band of grave warriors armed and armored to the teeth, carrying red banners blazoned with the Solari crest. Here was Rahvun, the Daylight’s Spear, leader of the Ra’Horak regiments, paragon of the virtues of the Rakkor, a most devout worshipper of the Sun.

Like the men surrounding him, he bore the sturdy golden plates of Solari armor from his shoulders to his feet, accented by bands of red cloth that braced his limbs and torso. But unlike the others, his helm was almost fully closed around his face save for the space around his eyes.

En would have bowed down in fear and awe at this man’s approach. But he was drawn to Rahvun’s eyes. They were are white as bones bleached by time and sunlight. They were stories about the test that he put himself through to gain the secret wisdom and strength of the Solari. He had looked straight into the sun for days on end, refusing to blink or shield his face until his eyes were singed. Through the pain and agony, he steeled his heart and gritted his teeth. His sheer devotion alone kept him upright when lesser men would keel over and weep.

A glint passed over them. Following it, En locked his eyes on the dire-looking weapon that he was gripping firmly in his right hand. It was a spear that spanned eight feet, made with sturdy pine wood. The steel tip shone with an unquenchable fire, as if it was still hot and molten from the sunforges. A token of his iron faith and victory.

He drew to a stop before the assembly of soldiers and captives. Handing over the spear to his other hand, he made a fist with his right and pounded it into his breast. “Devotion through battle,” he bellowed with a deep, powerful voice. En recognized from earlier when the battle was drawn to a sudden close.

All the men drew their feet together and made the same salute. Their chestplates filled the air with ringing music as they answered together, “Devotion through battle!”

Rahvun relaxed his posture and walked slowly around the court. Then, he turned to the gathered soldiers and addressed them. “Today, my brothers and sisters, our blessed ground has been stained with our best blood by our ancient enemies.”

No wind blew. The entire world seemed to be silent, hanging on to his next words.

“Today, we are reminded once more of the reason why we sharpen our blades, put on our armor, and march forward despite risking life and limb. We are reminded of how the wicked schemers who shroud themselves in shadow and despise our sacred light will not stop until their foul heresies become true religion.”

The old woman bristled at this, a frustrated expression painting her face as she looked up at the man. En eyed her curiously.

“And now, we are reminded of how far and wide their lies have spread, turning our most dearest kith and kin against our hallowed truths to house these benighted ones, give them food and supplies, and lead them through our hidden paths, to stab us in our sleep!”

The soldiers could not help themselves from murmuring to each other in agreement.

Rahvun clutched at his heart over his armor. “It pains me, brothers and sisters. It pains me that those who seek to rob the Golden One of her glory should lay in hiding with many of our own, teaching them in the ways of spying, secrecy, and speechcraft. It pains me to know that their lies have touched the ears of some of the most respected people in our society. How far have they come over thousands of years to bend the ways of some of the Solari’s greatest.”

The old woman’s eyes were shining. The other captives beside her were exchanging looks of dread. Whatever promises they were hoping to be fulfilled probably seemed very distant to them now.

“Come! Let us hear what they have to say. Let us ask them questions and divine the sad state of their hearts from all the wickedness taught to them by the heretics. This way, we expose the shadows to light, as is our way. For sunlight burns away all doubts!”

“And night renews. But in twilight is contemplation,” the old woman finally replied. En watched as she drew herself up. Her white gown was stained gray by soot and dust, but the bands of gold thread still glimmered on her collar and belt. A fillet of bronze crowned her head, clasping at the center of her hairline with a small green stone. The same jewel dotted her earrings and necklace.

His eyes quickly shifted to her left hand. There, just like on the servant-girl, was a silver tattoo of a sparklefly. His stomach clenched.

Rahvun did not lose his step. He drew closer to the woman and gestured at her. “So we start with you, Mistress Mirdan. As the ringleader of this band of traitors, we shall hear you first. May what you say shed light on this confusion, and perhaps grant you mercy for yourself and these poor souls you have bound with your plot.”

“Oh, I assure you, Daylight’s Spear, we have no knowledge about this plot you speak of,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

Rahvun replied, “No need to deny it. We see its fruits in full view in this place and the houses further down the pass.”

Mirdan’s jaw worked as she listened to his response. Flustered, she balled her firsts into her gown. “But I assure you, great one, that we have nothing at all do with this. I know of the long watch that the Ra’Horak set upon me and my household, and it ails me to labor to dispel your suspicions. But I have told you as I have told you and the council of elders before: what we have there is not a negation of the truths of the Solari faith, only its outgrowing.”

The man simply chuckled darkly. “So you say, mistress. But the Ra’Horak have not been watching your house only. Ever since your strange ilk were first discovered in the valleys below, we have been striving hard to find out more about this strange cult you follow.”

He faced the soldiers once again. “These cultists claim that their beliefs complete ours, and that they too revere the holy ones of the mountain. They say that they seek to foster the spread of knowledge and understanding beyond the boundaries of what we know in the sure light of the Sun’s revelation.”

At this, the soldier’s faces hardened. En quailed.

“And we do!” cried Mistress Mirdan. “We do honor the mountain, and the light that shines on her from on high. But we know that her glory and wisdom do not suddenly fall idle at sundown. Even in shadow and moonlight, her same majesty reflects unto all mortal beings. Do we forget that the tribes of Sun and Moon once had peace? In the twain light of dusk, these lights, which are truly one, mingle once more in the sky. This is what we aim for, this is what we preach. Not war and conquering and bloodshed, only peace,” she ended breathlessly, tears beading in her eyes.

“A peace built on lies!” Rahvun answered, his face blazing with sudden fury.

“Hear us, please, great one!” Mirdan pressed on. “Listen, and open your heart! You know it is true. Our forefathers have longed tired of endless war, yet we foist our pains on the next generation. The Lunari commit the same mistake: clinging to anger in place of clarity. This is not the way! We cannot go on when darkness from the outside world threatens to shroud us in ruin and oblivion. Do not let zealousness blind you from the truth!”

“The truth here is that you have revealed to us how entrenched you are in your errors. You claim to have no share in the Lunari’s works, yet you ask us to join hands with them all the same.” Rahvun replied. Mirdan hung her head in sorrow.

“Here is the confusion of those who listen to falsehoods. Their minds and hearts are split, saying one thing in one time and then saying another, then affirming both as true. One cannot hope to find truth if one seeks to be comforted by half-truths at the same time.” The Ra’Horak nodded slightly in agreement.

The old woman swayed where she stood, and then fell back on the ground into the arms of her worried servants. En did not notice that the girl named Huma was looking at him this time.

‘Still,” she muttered under her breath. “Still, it will all come to light. She will prove it true.”

Whatever Rahvun was about to say was cut short as he turned to the woman with an incredulous face.

Midran turned to him as well, speaking now with a renewed. “You will all see. She has returned to the mountain once more. A herald of change and the turning of times. She will prove the truth of my words, of our words!”

Rahvun’s eyes narrowed. Meanwhile, En wondered who she was referring to. The image of a sparklefly and “it” from last night flashed in his eyes. He stifled a gasp at the realization.

“Prove? Prove?!” he cried. “Why wait for this herald for proof? We will test the truth of your words right here.” He lifted his arm, raising the spear as it caught the light of day, gleaming even brighter as it did so.

The woman’s face blanched. Her servants were now muttering to each other beside her, eyes wide with fear.

Rahvun twirled the spear thrice in his hand. Then, gripping it tightly, he swung at the air, down at the woman’s head, barely missing her face. Her servants shrieked and crawled away. But Mirdan’s face was suddenly drawn tight. By what? En did not know.

He watched her closely.

“There are some who say that the truth of an idea is not as important as the conviction by which it is held. Do you believe so?” asked Rahvun. Each word flew from his mouth like arrows that were drawing dangerously closer to flesh.

The woman looked as if she were about to faint. “N-no. No, I don’t. If truth is only a matter of strength, only the strong may have justified. And truth cannot be so swayed,” she answered, struggling to steady her voice.

“We are the same on this matter,” the man said smiling. At the edge of En’s line of sight, he barely noticed the soldiers slowly backing away from the scene.

Rahvun brought the tip of the spear lower into the woman’s reach. “This you surely know. This spear is a token from the Sun herself, granted to the most ardent of her followers, to be used to put to flight shadow and fear, and scour the world of all falsehoods,” he said. He inched it closer into her hand.

Slowly, as if by a strange compulsion, Mistress Mirdan lifted a shaking hand. The edges of the spearhead were glowing white-hot now, and small sparks were running from the base to the tip. One of the servant-girls was sobbing into the shoulder of a male bondservant, who in turn lifted his hand over her face to shield her from the sight.

“Show us your proof here. If there is no lie in your words, you will be unharmed.”

En leaned forward into the scene. A sick thrill of anticipation shook the very edges of his thin frame. As for the woman, the fear on her face spread to every part of her being so generously that it almost dissipated from the lack of distinctness.

For a moment, everything was still. And then,

Her fingers curled into the spearhead.

A shaky gasp escaped her throat. Her fingers and the back of her hand glowed pink as the now blinding light of the spear seeped through. She blinked and drew quick, full breaths after what seemed to be an eternity.

Everyone was stunned save for Rahvun, who surveyed the woman with a solemn gravity. The only sounds came from the steady thrum of power from the spear and Mistress Mirdan, who was laughing at herself in relief with tears and sweat streaking her face.

“I did it!” she said between rough exhales. “I have proven it!”

She smiled. But then steam began to pour out of her clutched hand, soon accompanied by an unmistakable crackling.

Her faced opened in horror. Before she could wrench her hand free, it exploded with crests upon crests of hot fire. It quickly caught her hair and clothes, filling the air with a slowly deepening odor of choking foulness.

The flames completely engulfed her before she finally started screaming.

Her servants began to wail with her, some beating at the ground, others pulling at their hair, and others still tearing at their clothes. The reeled and screamed like farm animals being dragged to the slaughterhouse, save for Huna, who sat still as a statue while her fingers dug into her cheeks and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

Rahvun drew back the spear and tucked it into his side. His words seemed to be coming from way beyond En’s hearing, even though he only stood a few feet away from the boy.

“Lead them to the cells and set up the watch. We have to proper for Lady Leona’s arrival. We will talk about how to dispose of them from there.”

Immediately, the soldiers grunted in salute and shuffled to huddle the captives together. The poor men and women were still writhing on the ground as the scream finally died in Mirdan’s now-singed throat.

En kept staring into her face as a pair of Ra’Horak soldiers lifted him from the ground. The flesh clung tight to her bones like tightly woven black linen. Not even the jewelry on her head and neck could make her charred form recall any ounce of beauty. The fire alone was making her shine, and the outline of shriveled body stood starkly out of its swaying folds.

This image slowly retreated from the boys mind. Her face, however, remained in sharp focus long after it was out of sight.

There was another thing that stood out to him, too. As they approached a corner that lead into the stocks, he caught another glimpse of the sparklefly tattoo on her hand.

_That was the one she used to grab the spear. Funny._

He nodded. The silver markings looked dull against the bright firelight, but it still looked cheery despite gracing a ghastly looking pile of still burning flesh and bones.


End file.
